Soft, Low, English Accent
by Tsume Yuki
Summary: 'God, you've got a beautiful voice.' Hariel always found it funny, that of all the things her soulmate could take note of -the messy hair, the bright green eyes, the scar- it's her voice he points out first. FemHarryxMatt


**Soft, Low, English Accent**

x

"You're so lucky, Harry."

The first thing that all the Gryffindor girls had done once they'd settled into their dorm rooms was to trade stories on their marks.

Lavender had already met hers on the train, a redhead boy Harry had sat with, Ronald Weasley. Parvati Patil was in the same boat as Hermione and Harry, having not met her soulmate yet.

Whereas Parvati's soulmark was a generic greeting, Hermione's fell into one of the more awkward categories. She had' Know-it-all', scrawled up her forearm. It was in fancy penmanship, as Lavender had murmured that maybe it belonged to a pureblood.

They certainly wouldn't like a muggleborn like Hermione being so brilliant.

Harry on the other hand-

Looking down at her stomach, top rolled up and clenched in her fists so that the other girls could get a good look at the words that penned from one side of her waist to the other, was one of the lucky ones.

Because 'God, you've got a beautiful voice,' were the kind of words everyone hoped to get on their eleventh birthday.

No one knew why they showed up, but muggle or magical, come a child's eleventh birthday, there would be words.

No exceptions.

"Well, I've got a good feeling they won't care too much about the scar," Harry spoke, gesturing to her forehead and allowing her top to flutter back down.

The three girls nodded jealously, before conversation once again turned to Lavender and her recently discovered soulmate.

.

But Harry never forgot what she said that day.

.

* * *

Matt Murdock woke up on a sofa in a strangers apartment.

It wouldn't be the first time that'd happened, but it was certainly the strangest place he'd been inside.

For one, there was no sound leaking through the walls. No wind rattling the glass, no sirens, no mutterings of the people passing on the streets below. For the first time in so very long, the only sounds he could hear were those in the apartment, and only the apartment.

Alarm bells rang in his head, because no kind of soundproofing should be able to accomplish this, not without millions being spent on such an effect. Millions that wouldn't be wasted in Hell's Kitchen.

There were a collection of smells, a few registered as foreign. Plants, flowers that'd just come into bloom.

The scent of citrus, leaking from a direction he guessed the bathroom was in.

Sounded reasonable, for all the apartment had been apparently soundproofed, he could still here the water swirl about in the pipes.

Whoever had found him this time was off in that direction, washing their hands.

Comfortable heartbeat, not worried at all that there was a strange man in her apartment.

Confident then.

Why, he wasn't sure. She was drying her hands on a towel now.

And it was a she.

Feminine scent, the vibrations of her feet as she walked indicated she was of short stature and with a trim build, the light puffs of air as she breathed in and out. He could hear the shifting of her torso as she inhaled, the creaking of her bones as they moved about.

He could still taste the copper of his own blood in the air; she'd clearly tried to aid him.

Slowly sitting up, Matt shuffled about on the sofa, trying to appear as harmless as possible.

She'd let him keep the mask on, the black pullover covering the upper half of his face. Judging by the fact his skin didn't feel in any way constricted, it'd not been removed while he was unconscious.

The sofa didn't so much as groan under his weight, the leather butter soft under his fingers. It was only as he moved that he remembered the knife wound -not a stab, a slice- on his forearm.

An injury that was no longer there now.

In fact, it felt like it was days old, as if it were only a few days off being fully healed.

Certainly it was no longer causing him pain.

.

The woman's breath still slightly, hitching, when she noticed he was awake, and Matt made sure to angle his head in her direction, enough that it appeared he was looking at her.

The silence between them prevailed for a second, and while the woman's heartbeat had picked up slightly, it wasn't from panic, or nerves.

She was, curious.

Maybe even a little bit excited.

Each beat fell in a steady pattern, matching the drumming of her fingers against her thigh. One set, the other was still holding the towel she'd been drying her hands off on.

Before he could open his mouth though, she went on to steal all the breath from his lungs.

"Mind telling me why I found you beat up in a back alley?"

It'd been years since he'd heard those words.

Back when he'd first lost his sight, he'd had his father read them out to him, time and time again. They ran across the back of his shoulder blades, not in a place that she'd have seen while tending to his wounds.

The material of his shirt was still sticky with sweat, curved around the contours of his muscles. It hadn't been removed, she couldn't possibly have seen those words.

Which meant that, maybe-

"God, you've got a beautiful voice."

The hitch in her heartbeat was as much of a tell as her sudden failure to breathe.

He could feel the weight of her stare, the sudden pounding of her pulse as she quietly neared, running a hand across the back of her neck. He could hear the shifting of her hair, ringlets that fell around her face in an explosion of movement. They'd be fun to play with.

"May I?"

She really did have a very nice voice.

Soft, low, English accent.

He liked it.

Could certainly enjoy listening to it for the rest of his life.

That didn't mean he knew what she wanted to do, but he nodded his head anyway.

Thin fingers, cold from the tap-water that'd just been running over them and smelling of the citrus hand-soap she'd just used, came to rest gently on his cheeks. The gentle scrape of her nails against his skin as she raised the mask above his head was heavenly.

There was no plummet of her heartbeat when she saw his full face, saw the sightless eyes. But he could feel the heat her face was giving off, and knew she was blushing.

He could feel the slow, soft movements of the lazy air currents around her face change as she smiled, something full of teeth and pure, undiluted joy.

Her hands slowly dipped from his face, coming around to cradle his own before she delicately raised them to her face.

The calluses of his fingers brushed against the soft skin of her cheeks, feeling every curve like he couldn't already predict them. Her nose a small button thing, jawline sharp, proud chin jotting out. Big eyes, would probably resemble a doe to people who could actually see them.

"Hi," she breathed, her hands having come to rest on his collarbones, thumbs tracing careless circles into the material of his shirt, "I'm Harry."

"Matt."

.

* * *

She was a rainstorm.

A torrential downpour that seemed to electrify everything that found itself beneath her spell. An unrelenting force of nature that whirled and twisted and he could never quite take all of it in at once.

There was just always so much going on around her, that much he could tell, even with the few hours he spent within her apartment.

He could remember running his fingers over her face, the night before when they'd sat on the couch and introduced themselves. Harry's skin had been smooth beneath his touch, the only variable being the tight flesh around a curiously shaped scar upon her brow.

And the skin of her lower lip, which she'd pulled at until it'd punctured. Blood had welled up, the copper taste sharp in the air around them.

Her back had curved, arched slightly so her chest was directed towards him, the curve of her shoulders open and inviting. Temperature wise, she'd started giving off a significant amount of heat when compared to the moments before he'd said her words.

The feel of her fingers running through his hair, nails lightly scraping at the tender skin of his scalp had been distracting.

Not enough that he'd stopped running his hands down the length of her arms, tracing out the path of her body. Her rib cage had seemed especially tiny beneath his hands, the soft, swift fluttering of her heart a drum beneath his sensitive senses. She'd breathed in deep, leaning towards him and he'd almost lost himself in the scent she gave off, as close as she'd gotten.

Her lips had grazed his cheek, catching on the stubble there, but she hadn't pulled away.

Instead, she'd ran a trail of kisses down the edge of his jawline, leaving the lightest marking of lip gloss.

It was only by the mutual realisation that he was still sore from being beaten up that stopped things from getting any further. She'd been more than happy to let him crash in her bed though.

.

Waking up beside his soulmate was an odd experience.

Matt didn't bother to open his eyes, a pointless exercise in comforting others, seeing as Harry was still fast asleep. She slept in nothing but a pair of silken panties, wrapped up in silken sheets on the most comfortable bed he'd ever had the pleasure of all-but passing out on.

Everything in the apartment had seemed to be dripping in wealth, from the feel of the polished oak floorboards beneath his feet, to the fresh marble kitchen worktops.

Reaching out with one hand, Matt slowly trailed his fingertips down the length of Harry's spine, noting with curiosity the scar tissue that settled over her right hip. A slicing wound, healed cleanly. Though the origin, he couldn't say.

While her skin was soft, beneath his touch, her muscles fluctuated. Trained, more for speed than strength. She was in good shape, but he'd known that already from her heartbeat.

Light breaths, small puffs of air escaped from between her lips, the occasional, quiet snore chasing.

Slowly drawing the female into his arms, Matt grinned as she moulded unconsciously to fit alongside him, cheek pressed against his forearm, the other coming to lay upon the curve of her hip.

Her hair smelt weird. Not necessarily bad. But it didn't smell of shampoo. More of a herbal mixture -no chemicals- that she probably used as a replacement.

Harry's back pressed against his torso, body temperature only just a bit cooler than his own. Her bare breasts were just inches away from his arms, but Matt had enough class to not push his luck. This was his soulmate in his arms, that he was holding in his arms, with her nice smelling hair and incredibly attractive English accent. And she was awake.

"Mmm, good morning," Harry murmured, nuzzling into the tender underside of his forearm, a smile making her cheeks curve.

Matt let his hand come up, tracing the physical manifestation of her happiness, paying particular attention to the dimples.

"Good morning."

.

He'd had to dash home to get on the day suit, but he wanted to introduce Harry to Foggy and Karen. They'd been so happy since they found each other, but had felt guilty when really, they shouldn't.

Now he had Harry, and now he had even more of a reason to take care of this place. Because it needed to be a better place for her.

Harry's delicate, steady hands wrapped around his bicep, the one that usually hung free by his side. It was nice, to have Harry's fingers hugging the muscle there.

Now, under the New York sun, she was a focal point, a lightning rod capable of constantly drawing in what had once been his wild senses. He couldn't afford to stop playing attention, but he wasn't lost in an ocean current that did nothing but pull him along for the ride.

The sharp taptaptap of his stick on the ground matched each beat her heart took, their steps unconsciously synchronising. Every time they stopped at the traffic lights, Harry took it as an opportunity to rest her head against his arm, cushioned by the thick explosion of curls that surround her head.

It was only at the fourth set of traffic lights when she changed her mind, letting go of his arm and weaving her fingers -thin, strong, calloused- between his own.

Her palm was slightly damp against his own, nervous and excited, and he gave it a light squeeze in response to the movement.

.

It was easy to tell when Foggy and Karen caught sight of Harry, slipping into the room after him.

Karen's surprised breath, Foggy's head whipping around to focus better on her; Harry was attractive. He'd had a feeling she was, but as he was unable to tell the colour of her hair and eyes, only able to construct his own plan of her delicate face, he hadn't been sure.

"Matt?"

Turning his head in Karen's direction, Matt smiled, offering his arm to Harry, which she happily latched onto again.

"Foggy, Karen, this is Harry. My soulmate."

There was a momentary pause, as the duo looked between one another before Karen exploded with congratulations.

It wasn't until Karen asked what Matt's first words to her were, that Harry got any chance to speak at all.

"'God, you've got a beautiful voice'. It was certainly a pleasure to carry those words for the last fifteen years."

So she was twenty six then?

There was a moment of stunned silence from his two friends, before Foggy shook his head in absolute disbelief.

"Every time he knows who the hot ones are. Really should have expected you to be some kind of English Goddess or something."

* * *

 **So, I'm watching Daredevil, and I just had to write something for it. Matt is precious, and honestly, he's tied with Bucky as my favourite character in the MCU at the moment. I love them both so very much, so here's a sappy little oneshot. I'll probably write a much longer one later once I've finished it.**

 **(I haven't finished Daredevil yet, still got the final episode to go and if you spoil it I will never write again. For like, a month maybe. I'll be that sad. No spoilers please)**

 **Tsume  
xxx**


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